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Life with Michael
I am really not sure where to start. At the beginning sounds so cliche, but it is probably a cliche for a reason. I will tell you right now, if you are looking for a neatly wrapped up story this isn't that story. Real life just doesn't work that way. And with as much fiction as I have written, this is the realist and truest story I have ever told. And I don't really like to talk about it. So why am I? I think mostly because regardless of "rules" I know that no one will believe it. I actually don't WANT anyone to believe it. How weird is that? But it is somehow freeing knowing that you will just read it as one of those other "real" stories on /nosleep. None of the names have been changed, I doubt my brothers and sisters would appreciate that. Not that they appreciate a goddamned thing anyway. In the story of their lives, I am the villain. I sent their father to jail. Not that his going to jail has much to do with this story. Call it a subplot if you like. It really doesn't matter to the story at large. Who am I? Doesn't really matter. The name I post under is good enough. Mostly because I chose it for myself. If you search it you will find the fiction I write. Mostly fanfic these days. Pretty chicken shit I suppose to post their real names where applicable but not mine. Fuck 'em. I have always been able to sense... spirits? Ghosts? I don't even know what to call them anymore. I can't tell you when it ended, because it never has. But I can tell you where it started, with a broom. Of all the stupid things. Just an ordinary straw broom. I was maybe five maybe four. I had not started school, but because of the date my birthday fell on I was about six months older than my classmates. My parents just bought this new house. It was old. Not like antebellum old, or maybe... it had been built a hundred years before we moved in. But this was in California so antebellum is probably not the right word anyway. It was a normal house. Big family room. Big kitchen. Walls, a roof, a fireplace. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except for the old well that I swear had been filled with concrete. There was about a two and a half foot space between where the concrete stopped and the top. My parents always thought it would make a good wading pool, but we kids positively refused to use it for that. So back to the broom. My mom and I were cleaning the kitchen preparing to move in when we took a break. It was only the two of us. My dad and everyone else was at our old home waiting for the movers. I was the oldest of what would eventually be nine children. There were four of us at the time. Helping may be a strong word for what I was doing, but I was there. Probably for company more than anything else. Mom had sat the broom down and we went out to explore the huge backyard. When we got back the broom was just gone. No one else was there. At first she thought I had moved it. When we found it she knew it could not have been me. The yard had one of those old clothes lines with poles. They were made of some sort of hollow metal pipes. That broom was stuck handle first into one of the poles. There was no way I could have reached it. And there was no way it had been there when we explored the yard. It was pretty obvious with even a cursory glance. Mom was a little worried that someone had been in the home and was playing a prank. This was in the days before cell phones and our landline had not yet been hooked up so all we could do was wait for my father. No one was ever seen on the property and the broom incident was soon forgotten. I never forgot though. Then after we moved in there were other odd things that happened. Slowly at first then ramping up.Pictures would fall from the walls with no explanation. Bottles, the old kind glass coke bottles, would rock back and forth. Weird but not terrifying. Even though I had other experiences, I wasn't afraid exactly. Confused by what I was experiencing, but not afraid. My great grandparent's house had taught me that if I ignored stuff it eventually went away. They had this really creepy hallway. You had to go into a bedroom and into a small hall to get to the bathroom. That hallway terrified me. It scared my brothers and sisters too. But ONLY that hall. The house was safe, the bathroom was safe, but that hallway... I instinctively knew it was not safe. But it never hurt me, only scared me. It is amazing what you can get used to. They say if you toss a frog into a boiling pot of water it will hop out, but if you put the frog in cold water and slowly bring it to a boil it will let itself be cooked. I don't know if that is true, but it is a good analogy. By the time I started seeing nearly corporeal figures I was so used to the other weird shit happening that it hardly seemed any different. How messed up is that? That house sure had its share of occurrences. But see, the thing is, after a while, it wasn't the house any longer. It was just a house. With a creepy well that we told each other ghost stories about as kids. In retrospect? I doubt the well had anything wrong with it at all. Or maybe it did. I am not the best judge of these things. The thing is, we were a military family so we moved some. Not as much as other military families I knew of, but some. And the same thing happened in every single house we moved to. No, by this point the house itself had become immaterial. Some of the things I saw included: A woman in a long blue dress would float from my room across the hall. She seemed normal, except she did not live with us and I could see through her. My mom and aunt saw her once as well. When they asked me if I had seen her I refused to answer. They knew I must have I was staring at her, but for me, it was a big pile of nope. Another time in the corner of our family room I saw a man who was dressed in sort of old west clothes. He had a bushy mustache. Kind of like the one you see in pictures of Teddy Roosevelt. He was doing this weird loop sort of thing. He would turn with a drink in his hand like he was going to speak to someone and lift the drink to his mouth, then the scene would start over. By this time my father (my mom was my birth mother, he had adopted me as a baby) had been sexually assaulting me for years. That is irrelevant to this story except that I was now a teenager and had turned to methamphetamines and other drugs, whatever I could get my hands on really, to self-medicate. Or just to escape. I knew my family would just chalk up what I was seeing to drug use. I would too if I had not been stone cold sober at that time. Don't get me wrong, they all saw the same things. But when it came to me? Well, I guess having a reputation as a druggy did not make me particularly credible. I could go on and on about things moving on their own, like the dryer that lifted itself off the floor and shook. Or my television that pushed itself off of a shelf but I think you get the idea. I had learned about poltergeists around this time and I thought maybe because the sexual abuse I was experiencing was so traumatizing I had been creating these effects. (this is why I chose the child abuse flair, I won't be discussing or describing this any further) That doesn't explain the actual entities I saw. I have to say they were the least frightening somehow. I think mostly because they didn't even seem like they knew I was there. They were more like a weird movie than anything scary. I had learned that if I thought about these things, or worse talked about them, things got worse. I didn't have the words to describe to anyone that when they got afraid or discussed these events it gave whatever it was power. My mom tried to use a Ouiji board once with my brother. Absolutely nothing happened. No movement, no new weird experiences. Just more of exactly the same. I guess Milton Bradley didn't have a direct line to the spirit world after all. And these entities, ghosts, spirits, whatever, paid as little attention to me as I did to them. Until Michael. Not that he was particularly scary, but he was the first who knew we were there and actively interacted with us. Michael was (is? would have been?) my brother. My mother discovered in an ultrasound he was anencephalic. He was missing most of his skull and a lot of his brain. He was stillborn. The next year my sister Michelle was born. Named after Michael. She had the most experience with him. Although all of us saw him or were in some way affected by him at one point or another. Michael was Michelle, or Nikki as we called her (his middle name was Nicholas hers Nicole) first friend. She talked about him all the time. Mom brushed it off at first but when she asked her what he looked like she told her like my father and my brother. But the next thing she said was chilling. "But he doesn't have a brain like us. He has a mechanical brain." Nikki was three. She should not have had the vocabulary to describe this. And no, none of us would have told a baby about her stillborn brother with no brain. She was so certain in her descriptions my mother actually took her to a therapist. This was next level weird shit even for people who had been living for over a decade in a proverbial haunted house. The therapist was so worried because she did not sound like she was describing an imaginary playmate. He had my mother call the cops to search our place. He was certain a vagrant had taken up residence in our attic or something. Of course they found nothing. It would have been unusual anyway since my mother was captain of our neighborhood watch and police were over once a week or so. It is not exactly true that Michael did not scare me. But it was the intent that scared me most. The things Michael did frightened me only because I knew he was TRYING to frighten me. Plus the whole idea if something could pick up a God damned dryer what ELSE could it do? I had finally got the courage to go to the police about my father and was moved to a foster home. I refused to move back in even after he was moved out and went to jail. My mother had turned in to one mean bitch of a drunk and sexual wasn't the only abuse I suffered. And it didn't matter where I went, Michael was there. Nikki warned me he would be. I still spoke to my brothers and sisters on the phone, they had all opted to live with mom. One day while I was speaking to my sister Juanita, Nikki insisted on speaking to me. "Michael is coming to visit you." was all she wanted to tell me. I knew Michael was with me when I walked past a window and it shattered from the inside out. I was the only one at home everyone else was at school or work. There was no reason for me to expect it was more than a freak accident but I knew. I was absolutely certain no living soul was in that house. Cut forward a few years. My mother and I finally made our peace. In the same way I made peace with everything in my life. I pretended nothing bad had ever happened. I am actually a professional level denier of problems. She and I were remodeling her new home. The last one was burned to the ground by kids next door playing with bottle rockets. I was probably in my 30's at this point. But as I said that house became irrelevant. The house wasn't haunted WE were. I was rinsing a paintbrush and went back into the room we were remodeling at the moment. Mom told me to turn off the water. I was sure I had, but whatever. I turned it off. By the time I had taken ten steps to the other room, I could hear the water running again. I walked back and turned it off. AGAIN. I actually thought it was my stepfather (a new stepfather, my mother divorced and remarried) playing a prank. I yelled at him, but he just looked at me like I had lost my mind. I just knew it had not been him. I walked back to the small bedroom practically in tears. Mom asked what was wrong and I told her "No matter how many times I turn it off the water keeps coming back on!" She went to the door and told me to go turn it off once more. I did so and this time walked backwards to my mother. We watched as the faucet turned itself back on. Mom called out "Michael, knock it off you are scaring your sister." We watched the faucet turn itself to off. Mom was the only one who could ever control him. She swore he was just playing pranks. He wanted to interact with the family. I think the weirdest part about Michael was that he did not stay a baby. He fucking grew up as a... whatever the hell he was. My sister did not describe a newborn. She described someone about her age. My brothers and sisters and even my mom described seeing a male in places no one should be. Like one day my stepfather was working on his car and mom was watching. She said she almost bumped into someone. A man wearing dark clothes. She looked up to say excuse me, and realized no one was actually there. I never actually saw him. Others before and after, but never him. Mom said when she died she would take Michael into the light with her. Mom died a few years ago. I guess she must have kept her word since I haven't felt Michael since then. There are still weird things that happen. Things go missing and turn up in places they should not be. Or, and this is somehow worse, in the exact same spot I had put them to start with. I am not looking for advice. I don't want to DO anything. I refuse to give them that kind of power. I have seen things like that go really wrong when people try to get rid of entities. I genuinely feel like my best bet is to keep ignoring them. I suppose I can expect things to ramp up a bit after I post this. But as long as I give them no further energy it will all die down again.I honestly don't know what the point of this was. Maybe just to finally let it all out. Well, not ALL of it, there is so much more, but those were the major highlights. But I can tell you this... I am taking measures to make sure when I die I STAY dead. Category:Fanfic Category:Creepypasta